


The Bell

by Ryan_Writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryan_Writes/pseuds/Ryan_Writes
Summary: Snape and his BDSM Master on a typical afternoon ...





	The Bell

The Bell

 

"You're late."

I crouch on the stone floor, my knees aching with cold and damp, my naked flesh shivering. I am mute as a clapper-less bell. I am His bell; He has forged me, molded me to His wishes. I offer no excuses. He is not interested in why I am late.

"Legilimens." He slides into my mind like a knife. I give no resistance, though His entry is always painful. He takes what He wishes; I take what He sees fit to give.

He plucks a vision of the Potions lab from my memory. The Weasley brat - I can never tell those redheaded weasels apart - and his pal the Bloody-Boy-Who-Fecking-Lived managed to create a heretofore unknown variety of liquefying potion today. I barely managed to get to the hospital wing without spilling Weasley. He and Potter will have detentions for a month, once Pomfrey re-solidifies the little git.

The Master forces me to relive these scenes. I feel my face burn as He watches. I try so hard to maintain control. I want to make Him proud of me, but I cannot pretend to like the ignorant brats who refuse to learn. I cannot smile at the other teachers and feign interest in their petty squabbles. 

I sense His disappointment in my lack of discipline. I also sense a faint amusement at my predicament with the Weasley brat. "Reminds me of something the twins would get up to," He says.

By all that's holy, I actually forget myself for a moment and sniff in remembrance of the horrors the Terrible Two wreaked in my lab. The Master's blade skewers my mind. My muscles cramp in reaction.

"Silence, my servant," He murmurs into my ear as His bell twists in the wind of His displeasure.

I feel His gloved hand on the top of my head. The leather catches in my hair as He closes His fist and jerks my head back. I do not stare into His face, although it is utterly lovely, pale and cold as ice. I wait silently as His sharp eyes study my expression while His sharp mind slices my memories.

"I am not convinced that you truly regret your tardiness, my servant." His voice is silk in my ear and steel in my mind. That voice slices straight through to my bones. My body anticipates His mood. I cannot stop trembling, and my face burns with shame at His displeasure.

The Master accio's His toolbox to His hand. My body vibrates at the sight, the resin-tang of that small wooden chest. Within are the tools the Master uses to forge His instruments, to wring His music from their bodies. This instrument, this bell, knows those tools, and I shiver with fear and delight. My cock hardens. My Lord opens the chest with His ungloved hand.

My heartbeat speeds to match the quick breaths panting from my lungs. The Master first pulls leather sleeves from His chest, and my arms are already outstretched for them. The dark leather is supple and soft as he buckles my hands and forearms into the restraints. The sleeves are stained from use, and I breathe in the scent of my Master's semen and piss. Set into the palm of each mitten is a metal ring, and when my Lord has the elbow straps tight enough to please Him, He snaps a short length of chain through both rings, binding my hands together.

I gather my legs beneath me, anticipating His command to rise, to move beneath the sturdy roof-beam so that He can hang His bell and coax sweet music from me. His gloved hand twists in my hair. He shoves down, hard, and I press myself against the stone floor again.

"Do not presume that you know my wishes," the Master says softly. His hand shoves my head further, so that my forehead rests on the flagstone, then he releases me. My bound hands rise above my head as if in prayer, and am I not praying, am I not worshipping my Lord?

He plants a boot in the small of my back. My elbows and knees grind against the floor. My Master tugs on the chain, pulling my wrists back over my head. Almost immediately, my fingers begin to tingle as the sharp bend of my elbows pinches the nerves. My arm and leg muscles begin to twitch in protest of my enforced fetal position. I hear the distinctive rasp of the fastening on my Master's Muggle-style trousers. He calls it "unzipping."

I know His cock is in His hand, but I remain motionless, pressed to the floor. I will not make the mistake of trying to guess His mood again. A stream of warm liquid splashes onto my back and flows down to puddle beneath my body. The acrid tang of ammonia stings my nose. My Master shifts to play His stream over my shoulders, to soak my hair and the leather of my arm restraints. My eyes water from the powerful scent of His piss.

My Lord's fluids excite me deeply, and my throbbing cock aches with desire for Him. I breathe in the sharp odor, shivering at the musky scent of his maleness, and the pepper-sting of his arousal. I feel a thrill of satisfaction that my body and its music please Him. 

The boot leaves my back. The Master's gloved hand returns to my hair and tugs. His cock meets my lips as my head comes up. My mouth is already open I lap every bitter drop from His beautiful organ. My Master's cock fits me perfectly; its lovely straight length just filling my mouth, the head barely pressing against my tonsils when it's soft. I slide my tongue beneath the foreskin, questing for any liquid I may have missed. His cock hardens in my mouth. My body, His bell, shivers with His power.

This is the clapper to His bell. Only when I am allowed to take the Master's cock within myself do I feel my music is pleasing to Him. Only my Lord can wring the sweet, sweet song from my body.

I close my eyes and lean forward. My Lord's cock slides down my throat, as welcome as a cool pint at the end of a hard day. I rest my forehead against the wiry hairs of His groin and work the muscles of my throat until I can no longer ignore the need for air. Then, I pull back only far enough to suck in a quick breath.

The gloved hand pulls at my hair. "I believe that is quite clean enough," the soft voice murmurs. "I fear you are enjoying yourself too much, you naughty, naughty boy."

My entire upper body flushes with shame. There is no way to hide my thoughts from him. I cannot help myself: I do enjoy His cock! I enjoy every part of His beautiful pale body. I have no self-control at all!

"I was hoping I would not have to use these tonight," my Lord says, pulling a length of fine chain from His toolbox. I look at the item in His bare hand, and my cock wilts as quickly as a deflating balloon. Nipple clamps -- and these are not the fuzzy little nippers some men play around with, either. These are fierce, biting things with teeth, hard metal clips that nearly rip my nipples off my chest when my Lord uses them. The last time I caused Him to apply these to my body, my entire chest ached for days afterward.

His glove tightens in my hair. I sway in His grip and try not to twist away from the clamps. I manage to remain silent as he closes the first on over my shrinking flesh, but when the second bites down and my Lord releases the weighted chain between the clamps, my body twitches and I groan aloud. It feels as if the clamps are going to bite right through, past skin and muscle straight down to the bone! And I know from experience, that no matter how bad the pain in this instant, it will be five times as bad when my Master releases the clamps later, and allows the blood to rush back into my flesh.

I feel His gloved fingers on my cock. While I was distracted by the clamps, my Lord has chosen another tool from his box. His nimble fingers snap the thick leather band around my ball-sac, forcing my balls downward. My belly tightens with discomfort. It's only going to get worse.

"The main problem, my servant," He tells me, "is that you have been neglecting your self-discipline. You are supposed to be far more in control of yourself."

Ah, my Lord! And He is correct, of course, as He always is. I wish I were like Him, carved of ice and stone. I try so hard! And yet my temper will slip, my voice will rise into a shout. I can never be the man He is.

The Master stares down at me with disdain. I want to cover my face, to bow my head, but I do not move. He releases my hair, and his glove slides down my chest to tug at the clamp chain. One leather-covered finger draws a line down the middle of my wet belly to the base of my limp cock.

"Hmmm." He reaches for His tool chest. "I don't think we need you to be playing with this at all tonight, do we?"

I shake my head, face aflame.

He clamps the steel cock-cage around my limp organ. The metal is icy cold and I cringe despite my best intentions. The Master threads the leather straps of the ball-stretcher through the bars of the cage and tugs sharply downward. My balls are inside the cage, along with my cock, but the leather band cutting into my sac feels as if He's fastened the device over top of them. 

"Perhaps another lesson in ... tension ... will improve your control," my Lord muses as he screws the lock-bolts in place along the cage. He tugs absently at the leather thongs of the ball-stretcher. Each of these has a metal ring woven into the end. The Master snaps a series of weights onto the rings.

I feel nothing at first, for the thongs are long enough to dangle onto the floor. Then the Master jerks sharply at my hair, and I struggle to my feet. The sudden lunge sends all three sets of weights swaying wildly. My nipples and balls are on fire! I stand there, legs spread, breathing in quick, shallow pants.

The Master knows, he knows exactly how much I can take. He says nothing for a moment, only runs His gloved hand along my belly, from my cock to my nipples and back. Then, I have the pain under control and nod once, but He knows me, He is already reaching for the tool chest again. Thick leather ankle cuffs: the Master will need these to position His bell to His satisfaction.

Now comes the gag. My mouth is open, waiting for it. The Master's gag is a hard rubber ring that fits just behind my front teeth and holds my mouth open for whatever He chooses to put inside. He fastens the straps behind my head, and I am ready for His pleasure.

"Now," he murmurs, "I won't have to worry about you enjoying my cock so much. Because now you have no control, do you? No control at all."

Ah, Master! Yes, yes, you have all the control! And this is the reason I am here, my Lord, my Master. He leads me to the waist-high wooden block that he has set up beside the fireplace. I feel my control -- my responsibilities -- slip away from me with each step. They peel away, layer by layer, until what stands before the block is no longer a teacher, nor a spy, nor a trusted member of any bloody resistance movement. I am only one of Master's tools, only a bell to be rung by His hand.

This is what Dumbledore, the silly old fool, has never understood. This is why I joined the Death-Eaters in the first place. I was no young, innocent lad led astray by the Dark Lord! I wanted -- I still need! -- to be able to give over command, to surrender completely. Instead, Dumbledore continues to pile responsibility onto my shoulders!

Only my Master truly understands me. Only He sees my need, my desire to obey. And only He cares enough to free me from my responsibilities.

I bend over the edge of the warm wooden block. I wait silently while He fastens my ankles to rings set into the base of the block. He chooses two that force my legs apart just a little more than is comfortable. I am going to be walking stiffly tomorrow!

My Lord takes a moment to regard the weighted thongs dangling between my legs. The metal cock-cage, pinned between my groin and the hard edge of the block, is most uncomfortable. My ass shifts back and forth, up and down, trying in vain to find a position without pain. I cannot stop moving, and with each movement, the thongs sway just a bit, tug at my balls just a bit more. The Master reaches out to slap my ass -- not hard, just to see if He likes the way my reaction jostles the weights. I grunt and writhe, and He squeezes with His gloved hand, squeezes my ass, and I know He is smiling.

He moves to the head of the block. My arms dangle off this end. He snaps the chain on my cuffs to another of the rings, stretching me taut. I whimper a bit, since this hauls my nipple clamps tight against the wood. I cannot stop shifting my ass. I must look like some damned exotic dancer grinding away at the edge of the block like this!

The Master now holds up a new toy, dangling it before my face. I stare at the short length of chain for a moment without understanding. It looks familiar ... like ... yes, like the training collar a large dog might wear. My Lord sees my comprehension and nods.

"I am going to have to punish you for your tardiness," he says, "but if you are a very, very good boy and take your medicine without complaining, I will allow you to take this home with you and wear it underneath your robes."

My eyes widen. I stare at the chain with longing. To wear His collar, always -- to wear it in plain view of everyone, hidden only by a thin layer of cloth! I want to profess my undying devotion, but of course I cannot close my lips to form the words. The Master is still deep in my mind, however. He sees my response..

"You have been loyal these past months," he tells me softly. He slips one end of the chain into my mouth and allows my tongue to play with the warm links. The collar has been in the Master's pocket: I can taste the Muggle tobacco He's forever smoking.

"I have been thinking that your self-control might improve if you were constantly reminded," the Master continues. "Constantly aware that you are no longer in command."

Damned if my eyes don't tear up! My Lord understands so well, so very well!

"However, there is the matter of your unrepentant tardiness." My Lord pulls the chain from my mouth and sets it on the block, just beneath my left armpit. He reaches His ungloved hand out, to the wall where His implements hang in plain sight. His hand closes on a pair of small stingers, brush-like whips that He likes to use together. I drop my head and wait for the pain to begin.

The glove in my hair again, pulling. The Master jerks my head back up and shoves His cock past the ring into my throat. He holds it there just -- just exactly! -- long enough, then pulls back. As I suck in a deep breath, His hands come down, one-two! on my ass cheeks. Before I can make a sound, His cock is back in my throat, and we do this again and again, and the only noise is the swish of the whips onto my ass and my gasping breaths and the slap of the Master's groin against my face.

Every muscle in my body is tensed against the pain. I try not to move, but every thrust, every slash of the whip slides my body back and forth, and the clamps are grinding against my body and catching on the wood, and the weights sway between my legs, and the Master is making His music with my body just as He likes.

I wait for the sweet, hot flood in my throat, but it never comes. My Lord has such exquisite control! There are nights when He plays with me for hours, stopping just before He climaxes, changing toys, and starting over. Tonight, just as I am starting to become dizzy from lack of air, He slides His cock from my throat.

"Let's have a bit of louder music now," he murmurs, sliding around to the other end of the block. His gloved hand runs down the middle of my back and he squeezes each of my throbbing ass cheeks in turn. There is no way for me to even try to keep silent, and I grunt sharply with the pain. The Master returns both stingers to the wall, but his bare hand closes over a flogger made of wide leather straps. 

"I want you to be a good boy, now," he tells me, shoving deep into my ass. His cock is well-lubricated with my saliva, but still it is a painful entry and I gasp loudly. My groin jerks, shivers like a horse who feels the crop. "Be a good boy, and come for me!"

My Master begins a hard, rocking rhythm that shoves me back and forth so hard I can hear the weights clanging between my legs. The cock-cage digs into my groin with every thrust, the clamps feel like they've torn my nipples off. My Lord gives me a minute to adjust to the pain. Then the flogger comes down on my shoulders, in rhythm with his cock.

"Come! Come now!" he grunts, putting his entire weight behind each thrust and each blow. "You (slap) are (slap) not (slap) minding (slap)! I -- said -- COME!"

And by Merlin's grizzled chin, I very nearly do, despite the ball-stretcher and the cage! My cock is leaking so damned much I swear it must be puddling on the floor beneath the Master's feet. Master's cock is in my ass and His hands are on my body and His mind is deep inside me and His voice rumbles in my bones and -- ah, my Lord! I'm almost there, I almost, I can almost come for you!

I put my head down and bellow with each of His thrusts, with each blow of the whip. My throat is hoarse. My jaw aches from chewing on the gag. My Master flings the whip aside and slaps both hands on my ass, bare skin and soft leather.

"Yes, take it, dog! Take every inch of it!" My Lord slams against me like a jackhammer. I no longer know what's coming out of my mouth, screams and sobs and moans and animal grunts, and it's all Master's sweet, sweet music from His bell. I only make these sounds for Him. Only He can play me until I have no thoughts, no fears, no fucking responsibility, only His cock and my body and His lovely, lovely cream filling me and dripping down my legs and His hands stroking my ass.

The gloved hand unfastens the cage, and my cock shoots to full length. My ass is still moving, shoving against Him. As soon as He releases my balls, I shoot all over His fingers. My Master strokes my cock so gently, so softly, His gloved hand light on my throbbing balls.

"Good boy."

His fingers cup my balls as His bare hand unfastens my ankles. He leans against me for a moment, His limp cock nestled between my ass cheeks. His bare hand slides up and down the outside of my leg. "Very good boy. That was superb."

He moves along my side, running His bare hand up my back to the nape of my neck. He unfastens the gag. I can barely hold my head up. He has to pry the ring from my mouth, then I lie wilted across the block while He removes the sleeves. His glove in my hair again, pulling my mouth up to His cock.

I drop my aching jaw once more to clean my Lord's cock. My tongue takes slow, lazy laps of my own juices. I almost cannot close my lips over Him. Merlin, I very nearly fall asleep with Master's cock in my mouth.

He helps me roll onto my back then -- He practically has to haul me over, I'm that limp. I feel His hands on my chest, bare skin and leather.

"Good boy," he murmurs, "take one more for me, now, just one more."

My Lord's hands close over the clamps. In one swift move, He releases both, then claps His hands to my chest. I scream, arching my back off the block as the blood rushes back into my abused nipples. The Master's hands close over my flesh, rubbing my muscles. His head goes down, and I feel His soft mouth on my right side. His long hair brushes my skin as He sucks one nipple, then the other. I shake and tremble and try to relax into His mouth, and finally the pain eases and I can lie back onto the block for Him.

"Such a good boy," He says, slurping. I arch my back again, this time from pleasure. I want to cup my hand behind His neck, to pull Him close, but I cannot. This is our agreement, that only He will control what goes on behind these doors. I leave my arms dangling over the block, and close my eyes and offer myself to my Lord. 

His hands slide over my chest. I feel myself melt beneath His touch like butter. He can mold me however He wishes. His bare hand slides off, and I hear the clink of chain.

"Lift your head," He tells me, then slides the collar underneath my neck.

I very nearly harden again as He fastens the collar with a small padlock and puts the key into His pocket. I think if I were His age again, I probably would be ready for another round by now!

"Ah, Merlin!" I whisper, fingering my new collar with a trembling hand. His bare hand joins mine, tugging at the chain.

"Now you're really mine," he murmurs. "I want you to remember that every time you have to hide this from your colleagues,"

"Thank you, my Lord!" I take a deep breath and steel myself. This is the hardest step for me, every time. "Occlumens."

My mind feels so empty. The Master helps me sit up. My muscles are still putty. I make my way to the sofa on the other side of the fireplace, and pour two mugs of the tea He has set out ready for us. I turn to find my Lord holding out a robe. I hike an eyebrow at this. He shrugs.

"Hey, I'm the Master, I can do whatever I want."

I raise the other eyebrow, but say nothing. I take the robe and slip it over my dripping nakedness. The Master throws himself onto the sofa and spreads both arms over the back. I hand Him a mug. When I move to kneel between His legs, He frowns.

"It's a bit chilly for that," He murmurs, and pats the cushion beside Himself. "We should think about getting some rugs or pillows -- for afterwards."

I perch gingerly on the sofa beside the Master. "You know I find it ... difficult ... to transition, my Lord. I ... ah ... do not take this quite as lightly as you do."

He leans toward me, his hair falling forward to hide his pale face. "I do not take it lightly, my friend. I'm sorry if I give you that impression sometimes."

His bare hand closes over mine, squeezes. "You know how much your surrender arouses me."

I take a deep breath, but say nothing. He lights a Muggle cigarette and passes me the pack. I shrug, and light up. 

"I think sometimes you forget that I didn't grow up with servants," he continues. "It's not that I'm not dead serious about this -- it's that I tend to forget how I'm supposed to treat you when I'm not topping you. I'll get it right, just give me time."

I blow smoke from my nostrils and say nothing. I stare at his lovely, pale face. He is the only man who has ever truly understood me. His mind is the only one that has ever really challenged mine. I would do anything for this man.

"Of course you will, my Lord. You are quite intelligent. Perhaps you would allow me to instruct you in some of the ... trivial points ... of dealing with servants ... at a later date."

He looks at me. His bare hand flicks the long hair from his eyes. His gaze travels from the collar around my neck to the trail of come snaking down my left leg. One pale eyebrow rises slowly. He sucks deeply on the cigarette.

"Damn it, Sev, now you've gotten me interested. How does Saturday sound?"

"I have to make an appearance at the Quidditch game. It's Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff. But, yes, afterwards I'm free."

I take a sip of the hot tea. It soothes my sore throat. I glance at my Lord, still not entirely comfortable sitting beside Him on the sofa. He grins and leans back against the sofa arm.

"Saturday afternoon, it is, then," He says. "I trust you will ... not be tardy."

My eyebrow shoots up. "Assuming all of your damnable brothers behave themselves for a change," I snap. 

"That's hardly fair," He retorts. "Charlie's been out of the country for years now."

My reply is only a sniff. I blow more smoke from my nostrils. I sip my tea.

"Half a mo," He mutters, glaring at me from the corner of his bright blue eyes. "That was pure cheek, that was!"

I raise my eyebrow once more, quite slowly. He stares at me without speaking, then glances down to my lap, where my robe has fallen open. His eyes widen. A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Why you pervy bastard! And after all those 'if only I were your age again' comments, too!" His eyebrows draw together over his nose.

"There'll be none of that cheek in this room, you bad boy!" he tells me. "Get your insolent arse off my sofa and down on your knees where you belong." He points between his spread legs. I gulp the last of my tea, snub out the cigarette, and fairly pounce onto the flagstone.

So He's a bit slow sometimes. What Master doesn't have His off moments?

FIN

BDSM NOTES: The breathplay in this piece is quite dangerous, and should not be attempted without a thorough understanding of the Legilimens spell.

Also: when you have your bottom in heavy restraint, as in this piece, it is important to maintain physical contact. Notice how Bill, as a good top, always has one hand on Snape, or leans against him. Otherwise it is easy for the bottom to dissociate, or drift into a dreamlike state, which can result in injury to him because he's not really inside his body.


End file.
